


Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)

by Cassidae



Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Developing Friendships, Emotional Baggage, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Relationship Reveal, Roleswap, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unresolved Issues, lily wright is an asshole but she's trying, that's right sammy's a damsel in distress again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-24 20:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20913788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassidae/pseuds/Cassidae
Summary: Ben had This Is Your Year, Sammy Stevens clips edited to Green Day’s Good Riddance, subtitled Time of Your Life. It’s a song about someone leaving, but that’s semantics.Then Sammy’s gone.[ The first Sammiversary happens sans Sammy. This is what happens after. ]





	Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [local_eldritch_abomination](https://archiveofourown.org/users/local_eldritch_abomination/gifts).

> Surprise: I'm not dead! I'm just a ball of anxiety and keep chickening out of posting any of the dozens of WIPs I have built up. (I've been sitting on this one since February)
> 
> But here I am, once more submitting myself to the mortifying ordeal of being known!
> 
> Hope you enjoy <3

“Take your time, bud. Call me when you’re done packing everything up and I’ll be by with the truck, lickety-split.”

“Thanks, Troy.” Ben sighs, twisting the spare key around and around on its ring in one hand while he holds his phone with the other. “This just- This still feels like-” _Like agony,_ he wants to say, but that feels too dramatic. It’s just stuff.

“The only thing you’re admitting is that an honest lady’s space is being taken up without compensation,” Troy says, gentle but firm. “Nothing about this being forever, ‘cause it _won’t, _ and we’re gonna make sure of that. This is just the best solution for the situation right now and later he can move his things right back on in.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” He appreciates Troy’s confidence in him more than he can say right now, especially with how ridiculous he acted at the Jensens. “A-And it’s not too late if you want to come over, you know. You’re Sammy’s friend, too.” Troy’s known Sammy just as long — _ longer, _ if you want to split hairs. He knows this is hitting him hard too, even if Ben’s way more of a mess about it.

“I appreciate the thought, really I do,” Troy says, earnest as always, “But I still think it’s better if it’s just you. Sammy kept to himself so much, I think he’d prefer if there were as few sets of eyes as possible on all his stuff. And if they’re anyone’s, they should probably be yours. You two are another level of _ simpatico _ and I respect that.”

Ben wishes Troy were here right now so he could give him a hug. Ben wishes for a lot of things. “Thanks,” he says because he doesn’t know what else to say. Troy doesn’t acknowledge the way his voice breaks on the word, just bids him a gentle goodbye before they hang up. Then Ben finally steps out of his car and faces Sammy’s building.

He’s only been here twice — or three times, if you count him visiting the landlady the other day. 

He wasn’t sure what to expect, thought it was a long shot, but knew he had to ask before Sammy’s stuff ended up on the curb. But the woman had been nothing but gentle and kind and handed over the key before Ben even finished asking.

“I’ve been holding onto it for over a month now, waiting for you or one of your little friends to come by,” she had said, because apparently Sammy hadn’t quite gotten around to renewing his lease yet. But she knew Ben, knew the show, knew someone who cared would come around eventually. “Didn’t seem like he had a lot, though. I didn’t see no moving truck — looked like he had packed up all his life in that little hybrid of his. Shouldn’t be too much trouble.”

She must’ve seen something on Ben’s face, because she added “Now, I didn’t know him all that well… but I miss him, too. Good tenant, funny guy. A year wasn’t nearly long enough.”

Ben couldn’t agree more.

Ben opens the back door of his car and grabs the roller of packing tape and as many flattened boxes as he can fit under his arms. Figuring out how to get up the staircase like that is… a task, but he works out a sideways waddle that gets him there eventually. When he gets to the door he sets half of it down, puts the key in the lock and… freezes. Again. And this time there’s no excuse to call Troy to try and shake him out of it.

Ben gets why _he_ has to do this, but _why_ does he have to do this? Because Sammy happened to be running late, because Sammy couldn’t drive fast enough, because some alien force they don’t understand set their sights on him and decided _ ‘you’re next’?_ It was supposed to be a _celebration,_ they were supposed to eat the cake Emily made and talk about how much they appreciate him and Ben would’ve gotten him to say “Sammiversary” eventually, annoyed him for however long it took until he caved. But the night went wrong, _ so wrong, _ and the cake was left uneaten and Sammy was- _ Sammy-_

_ ( “I-I don’t think I’m going to make it to the party, guys. I-I thought I could shake them, but they’re- _ ** _shit,_ ** _ they’re getting close-” )_

He turns the key, hard, and refuses to think of the loud _click as_ the last nail in the coffin. He opens the door slowly, a rectangle of light creeping across the bare wood floor of the entryway. Ben reaches in, not stepping foot just yet, and feels blindly until he finds the light switch. Clicks that on, and swears it echoes.

But this isn’t some dark cave, it’s his best friend’s apartment. Being here without him feels… _ wrong, _ sure, but not scary.

He picks up the boxes and crosses the threshold.

*** * * ***

The landlady hadn’t exaggerated. If all the furniture came with the place… then Sammy really doesn’t have a lot.

He clears out the trash first, especially all the old food in the kitchen, but under that there’s not much to find. Some things he expects, like hair product in the bathroom and the variety of cooking and baking implements in the kitchen — some stored so high up he has to actually grab a chair from the living room to reach, because Sammy’s a giant who doesn’t see the need to have a stepstool hanging around, apparently. But some things come as a surprise, like how his DVD collection includes assorted horror movies and literally the entirety of _ The X-Files. _

Ben stares at those cases in particular for a while, just… bewildered, honestly. Eventually, he has to pack them away with the rest and tape the box shut. It’ll just have to stay a mystery — for now, anyway.

Still, Ben hadn’t noticed it before, but the place is just so… _sparse._ Sammy has never seemed like the minimalist kind of person, but the DVDs were the most personal touch he’s found so far. No picture frames, no knick-knacks, no potted plants, not even a freaking _candle._ In the end, he has all of four boxes filled and the main space looks move-in ready again.

All that’s left is Sammy’s bedroom.

The door isn’t even closed. It’s been hanging half-open this entire time, mocking him. Sammy must’ve left it open in his rush — it’s always been shut tight when he came over before. _ ‘The final frontier,’ _ Ben can’t help but think as he nudges it open. It doesn’t creak or anything. It glides open smoothly to reveal the only room having anything resembling clutter, though even that isn’t saying much. Still, it makes sense that his bedroom would be the most personal place.

He starts by the unmade bed, intending to strip the sheets — but his eyes catch on something resting on the nightstand, glinting in the sunlight from the window. He picks them up gently, and he doesn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. He’s done plenty of the latter, so he lets a little laugh escape. The sudden sound almost makes the silence feel more wrong.

Glasses. Sammy has _glasses._

God, he can just picture him sitting up in bed, reading a book with them perched on his nose. Never wearing them out or to work, either too embarrassed to admit he needs them or thinking they make him look old. Which they absolutely would and Ben would give anything in the _ world _ to make fun of him right now.

He manages to find the case for them, along with a few other odds and ends that he only could’ve gotten from King Falls, like a CD from that hipster music festival or a pen with a light-up cartoon apparition on the end that he’s seen in the shops downtown a million times. He finds some brochures on his desk too, along with lists of things he can’t make heads or tails of; crossed-out phone numbers and names of local businesses, and what looks like a running list of every local legend and creature Ben’s so much as mentioned. With annotations.

That, plus the stacks of books on the paranormal littered around, make him curious — and a little annoyed, honestly. He’d thought Sammy had given up on stuff like that after the whole _ King of King Falls _fiasco, or at least knew he could come straight to Ben instead. He tucks that question into the back of his mind too, and packs the papers away with Sammy’s laptop.

Besides clothes, at the bottom of the closet he runs across some empty suitcases and a couple boxes that must have been from his move a year ago. One box just seems to have some of the odds and ends that had been missing from the rest of the place, but Ben pointedly doesn’t dig in or unwrap anything and only retapes the box and pushes it out into the hall with the others. The other one is smaller, but he expects more of the same.

It’s not.

In it, he finds… tapes. Cassette and audiotapes, mostly, but a few that look like they’re from an old camcorder. It’s like opening a technological time capsule. A quick glance reveals labels like _ “Road Trip Mix” _ and _ “First show on 1090”,_ but he makes himself shut it before he really gets nosey. Clearly this was hidden and private for a reason, and he has to respect that, no matter how much his curiosity itches.

Emptying out the dresser drawers turns into a mindless task of packing away pants and underwear and belts. He’s reaching in and tossing out pairs of socks, one after the other, when his hand closes around something… hard, and sort of square. Definitely not a sock.

He pulls it out, and… well, it looks like a jewelry box.

Ben’s so startled by the realization that he actually drops it. It snaps open when it hits the floor and something goes flying out, a glint of gold that lands with a soft tinkle somewhere underneath the dresser. He drops to his knees, frantically feeling through cobwebs and dust bunnies until- _there._

He sits up and dusts off… a ring.

It’s beautiful. Simple but elegant, sparkly and new. There’s no huge rock jutting out or anything, but… it’s obviously not just any old ring. His suspicions are confirmed when he spots the engraving on the inside in looping cursive.

_ ‘ Love, J ’ _

Ben kind of feels like he’s been punched in the gut, like he can’t get enough air. He’s already on his knees, but he manages to sink even lower with misery that’s not entirely his own anymore. “Oh, Sammy…” he mummurs to the empty room.

Ben wishes for the hundredth, _thousandth_ time that his best friend was a little more open with him, then maybe he would have an idea of who this _ J _ was. If she’d want to know that Sammy was gone. If Sammy had loved her or missed her with even a fraction of the way Ben feels right now. He must have, if this was important enough to keep, if they were important enough to eachother to promise their lives.

It- _ God, _ it really isn’t any of this business, he _knows_ this, has been worrying about it the whole time he’s here, carefully toeing the line of what he _should_ do and _needs_ to do. But knowing this and stopping himself from rushing back to the box of tapes are two different things.

He sees a few things that seem related — cassettes labeled _ “For Sammy <3” _ and _ “S & J Mix” _ and an audiotape with _ “Every time I made you laugh on air” _ in cramped handwriting that, come to think of it, doesn’t actually look anything like Sammy’s — but there’s nothing along the lines of _ “Engagement Party” _ or _ “Wedding” _. He doesn’t know what that means exactly, or what he feels when he realizes he’s come up empty.

Disappointment, maybe, at not getting answers. Sadness for a life Sammy had lived but had never shared with Ben, something and someone that obviously made him happy at one point in time but now- what? Did they split, or did she pass away? Was it a whirlwind romance, or had they been together for years? Was there any difference in Sammy’s eyes?

And… was it that Ben isn’t trustworthy enough, or was it just too painful to talk about at all? Did he not think Ben would understand? Ben knows he wouldn’t- _couldn’t,_ not really, not when he can’t even say the right words to Emily’s face. But he’d have been there for Sammy anyways.

He’s never known anything about Sammy’s life before King Falls and that’s never really bothered him. This shouldn’t change that. He had his reasons for not telling Ben, whatever they were, and Ben has no right to all his secrets even as his best friend. Knowing that should be enough for Ben to just- just _drop it._

But Ben thinks about the way Sammy would tease him about Emily, about his encouragement and _ “She definitely likes you” _, and… he wonders who else he might’ve been thinking of.

Ben’s never been good at dropping things. He puts the ring back in its place and tucks the box in his pocket.

*** * * ***

“That’s _ really _ all of it?”

“Yep.” Ben hefts the last box into the back of the truck. Altogether, Sammy’s stuff barely takes up the bed. “I think we can nix the idea of a storage unit. This can all fit in my guest bedroom, easy.”

“Light traveler,” Troy comments, but Ben can tell by the look on his face that he’s thinking something else.

“I guess… But it-” he starts. Stops. Stares at the box he knows holds the tapes for a long moment before he tries again. “I know he only lived there for a year — but that’s still a _ year_. And he came from _somewhere_ before that, spent years in that big city, but it just seemed like he was… I don’t know, existing in a space? That… That wasn’t a _ home _ in there, Troy.” His voice breaks again and he hates it, hates all of this, hates the _missing_ and the _not knowing_ and not knowing what it is he missed.

Troy’s hand lands on his shoulder, big and warm, and Ben cranes his head up to look at his friend’s face. He doesn’t see pity there, just gentle sympathy. “For some people, home’s more of a person than a place. I think Sammy was settled in just fine.”

Ben gets what he’s implying, what he’s trying to comfort Ben with, but it only makes his chest clench and the ring box burn like a coal in his pocket. _ Home’s more of a person than a place_. Was Sammy never going to be home, then? No matter what Ben or any of them did? Even if- _when_ he brings Sammy back? Is _ J _ always going to be the only thing that ever felt like home?

It’s not like Troy could answer even if Ben breached Sammy’s trust further by telling anyone. He gives Troy the best smile he can muster and hopes that either his acting skills or the general circumstances help him overlook what Ben’s really feeling. “You’re probably right. Maybe Sammy’s just one of those minimalist hipsters, anyway.”

That at least gets a little laugh out of Troy. “I could certainly see that. C’mon now, let’s get before the Missus calls me for dinner.” He gives Ben’s shoulder a quick squeeze before he turns toward the driver’s side door of his truck.

Ben follows his lead to his own car with his mind still racing and heart still aching, somehow worse than before.

* * *

“Look, Cynthia, I know you mean well,” Ben doesn’t really, actually highly doubts it, “But Sammy _will_ be back, okay? This whole ‘Ben Arnold Show’ thing is _temporary. ”_ He doesn’t bother to hide the contempt in his voice, has never made it a secret that the title was forced on him. “So the posters _really_ aren’t necessary. I’m… _ flattered, _ but save yourself the effort, okay?”

“But _Ben,_ you don’t understand the huge favor I’m doing for you!” Cynthia says, and Ben’s trying hard to not think of it as whining, really he is. “Your ratings aren’t doing too great, are they? I just want to help you get them back up!”

“What makes you say that?” Ben asks, knowing he sounds defensive, but he thinks he’s justified in not wanting to take criticism from _Cynthia _of all people. Sure, it hasn’t been _fun,_ and maybe a little slow, but he thinks he’s doing okay.

_ “Well, _ before I called in there was a full _half-hour_ of nothing! Not silence, exactly, but it sounded like you were writing? Some kind of scribbling noise,” she explains in a huff.

Ben’s hand unconsciously moves to splay across his notebook, still lying open on the table. He had just meant to get down a thought — it hadn’t been _that_ long, had it? He glances at his watch and- oh.

“And I’m no _radio expert,_ but even _ I _ know that isn’t great. I know you’re still trying to find the _ voice _ of the show, so I’m just trying to keep your head above water until you do, yeah?” Cynthia says, so sugary-sweet it sticks to Ben’s teeth just to hear it.

“This is _temporary,"_ Ben repeats, because he has to make them believe it, has to make sure _he_ keeps believing it. “And what I’m _writing,_ what I’m working on, it’s _important. _ But, you’re right, I… I should try to stay more on task when we’re live. Thanks for the, uh, feedback, I guess.”

“You’re very welcome!” she says primly. “Now, about that headshot-”

He hangs up, though he feels the tiniest bit bad about it. “It’s been nice talking with you, Cynthia! I’m going to go ahead and take another call, get my _ voice _ out there and all.” He waits for a beat — but there’s no snappy one-liner in reply. Of course there’s not. In the lingering silence, he can’t hold back a sigh. He’s just so… tired. Hurt and _ tired. _

As unfortunately tempting as it is to go back to dead air, he should probably do some actual _talking_ on his talk radio show. Merv’s been understanding so far, but he doesn’t want to push his luck. “Lucky line one, you’re live on the S- the-the show,” he stumbles, hasn’t _stopped_ stumbling, unbalanced like he’s missing a limb.

“You knew him? Sammy Stevens?” The voice is unfamiliar — feminine, terse, and gives Ben the distinct feeling that he’s being interrogated.

“I _know_ him and I _ know _ I’m getting him back,” Ben corrects, feeling his hackles rise again despite himself. Why can’t everyone understand that? “Wh-Who is this?!”

“Lily Wright. You might have heard of me.” She says it like she knows the answer is yes.

Ben’s brain kind of blue screens for a second or two. “L-Lily Wright?” Did his voice just jump up an octave? More importantly, is this a prank? “Of-_Of course_ I have! I’m a huge, _huge_ fan of your show, _ Wright On_. Oh my god, I-”

“That’s all you know me from?” she asks — _ demands, _ more like.

Oh. Apparently the interrogation isn’t over yet.

“I- uh. Yes? I mean, I’ve been following your career for ages-”

“Yeah, thanks,” she interrupts, “Ben Arnold, was it? Listen, this is about Stevens. I know he probably didn’t mention me because he was scared — of me, his old life, being _honest… _I mean, really, take your pick.” She laughs, but Ben doesn’t get the joke and doesn’t think he wants to.

“You… You know Sammy?” For a _ wild _ second Ben thinks that she’s the person behind the ring, but then he remembers that Lily starts with _ L. _ “Uh, no, he never- you never came up.” He would _definitely_ remember that. But that raises the question of why it’s coming up _now? _

“Figures,” she says, almost a sneer. “Now, you and I need to have a chat. When does this show of yours end?”

If Ben felt wrong-footed before, now he’s practically flat on his face.

“In a-” He starts to answer automatically, but snaps his mouth shut before he does. Something about this doesn’t feel right. He tries to take a breath before asking, “Look, Miss Wright, what-”

“Ugh, do _not_ call me that. Lily’s fine.”

“Alright… Lily.” Maybe he’ll have a little freak-out over this later, over talking with _ Lily Wright_ and getting to use her first name. Maybe when he’s not so exhausted and there aren’t so many alarm bells going off in his head. “What is this _about,_ exactly? Do you know something about his abduction? Are you trying to call in a tip or something?” The excitement leaks back into his voice, but nerves still roil his stomach.

“The opposite, actually. I need you to tell me everything _you_ know. That’s kind of how an investigation works.” Lily couldn’t sound more condescending if she was Ben’s fifth grade English teacher, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Wait, you- you came here to _investigate_ Sammy? I thought you said you knew him like, personally?” Isn’t that a conflict of interest or something? He’s more lost than a tourist in Sweetzer.

There’s a pause, the first one on Lily’s end since the call began. Then- “It’s complicated. Officially speaking, I’m here to do a story on King Falls — and that includes the wackadoo stories about UFO sightings.” Before Ben’s hackles can even raise, she switches to that low tone again. “But Stevens and I used to work together, before we had a… falling out. Then _ apparently _ he got himself another show and a new co-host out here.” If Cynthia was sugar, Lily is pure vinegar right now.

“Well, I mean I’m-I’m also the producer here on King Falls AM,” Ben tells her, not to be defensive but- you know, just for the record. Is this going on the record? Are they recording right now? Oh god, is he going to be on the next episode of _ Wright On? _

“... Of course you are.” She doesn’t sound happy about it. “Guess he used you too, then got himself _ fucking missing _.” She spits that out with such vitriol that it makes Ben jump, makes him too slow to press the bleeper button.

He doesn’t quite catch it in time, reflex barely moving his arm while his brain is still trying to catch up with what’s happening, all the things Lily is implying that he’s not getting. “I’m sorry, could-could you not curse on air? Please? I know your podcast has a different rating, but-”

“Just answer the question, poster boy,” Lily snaps. “You, me, when and where? This really isn’t a conversation I’d like to have on air, especially if you’re going to be such an ass-kisser.”

For a second, Ben seriously contemplates telling her no. She’s been nothing but rude and doesn’t seem to even _like_ Sammy at all, and he has nothing to go on except her word that they even knew eachother.

But… Ben really can’t pass up this chance. If she honestly wants to help look for him- well, two heads are better than one, even if the other seems liable to bite.

“How’s 6:30 AM at Rose’s Diner?” he asks. “You probably saw it when you came in, it’s just off the-”

“I got it. See you then.” With that, she hangs up on him.

Ben can’t believe he’s saying this, but he doesn’t think he’s looking forward to meeting Lily Wright in person.

*** * * ***

Lily Wright is there before he is, stirring creamer into her coffee and glaring at it as if it personally wronged her. She looks out of place in her stylish blouse and ironed dress pants, surrounded by flannel and jean-clad truckers. She’s also alone, which Ben hadn’t expected. She always travels with her producer, Pippa, and sometimes an intern or two, but apparently this is really meant to be off the record.

She doesn’t look up until he sits down across from her. Her dark eyes pin him instantly, needles piercing his shoulders and holding him in place to examine, to evaluate. Ben knows he’s failed before she opens her mouth.

“Where’s the rest of you? Do I need to ask one of these lovely waitresses for a booster seat?” she asks, lips curled like she thinks she’s funny, but the humor doesn’t reach her eyes.

“I am of _average height, _ ” Ben snaps automatically. She only laughs and it makes his cheeks burn, but he presses on. “Look, I-I respect you and your work _a lot,_ okay? But-”

“Ah, that’s_ right, _ ” Lily says, like she’s just remembering something, and if her smile wasn’t mocking before it certainly is now. “You’re a _ fanboy! _ What, got something you want me to sign? I’m afraid I don’t have a pen on me, _ sorry _.”

“What? No, I don’t- Wait, I thought you were going to take notes or something? For the investigation.” His own fingers are itching to dig into his bag for his notebook, to show her what he has so far. But he’s doubting more and more that Lily is thinking along the lines of_ teamwork _like him.

Lily makes a show of rolling her eyes before reaching into her pants pocket, then sets her phone face-up on the table with a firm _clack._ “ _ Audio notes,_ dipshit. If you say anything worthwhile for the general story, we’ll come back with mics, but this should do just fine for now. What, did you expect me to whip out a notepad and write down your every damn word?”

“No! No, I mean, of course not. I just-” He doesn’t know what he _just,_ but right then he’s saved by Sierra coming by to drop off a mug of coffee for him.

“The usual, Ben?” she asks as she sets the mug and two packs of creamer in front of him. The pity on her face clears somewhat after she looks him over, must take note of how he cleaned up to meet with Lily. Nothing to do about the bags under his eyes, but he at least put on a fresh shirt and combed his hair.

On cue, his stomach growls, roused by the pleasant smells drifting out from the kitchen. When was the last time he ate something besides energy bars? It’s Tuesday now, right? He definitely had a solid meal sometime over the weekend. Probably. “Yeah. Thanks, Sierra,” he answers, doing his best to give her a winning smile.

“Side of pancake puppies, too?”

His chest clenches a little but he answers “Yes” like he always does, because he ate them all the time before and not having anyone to share them with now shouldn’t stop him.

“And you’re sure you don’t want anything, ma’am?”

“Yes, I’m sure. But thanks, doll.” Lily smiles at Sierra, because apparently she _does_ know what manners are. It vanishes as soon as she leaves and Lily goes back to staring him down like a bug on the ground. “So do we have to wait until you stuff your face, or can we go ahead and start?”

“Oh, uh. We can start, that’s fine. But-But first I want you to tell me how you know Sammy,” he adds quickly, but she’s already pressed the record button on the app.

Lily doesn’t make a move to turn it off, just gives him a look that she probably expects him to cow under. And, well, maybe Ben would if they were talking about anything else. But this isn’t just _anything_ and Sammy isn’t just _anyone_ — to either of them, he’s pretty sure.

“I told you, we worked together,” Lily says, tight and annoyed that he’s making her repeat herself.

Ben looks away to stir in the creamers, taking the opportunity to not have to look at Lily’s evil eye. “I mean, I believe that. But people don’t do all this for someone who’s _just_ an ex-coworker,” he replies. And, well, he might be playing with fire here but he thinks it’s only fair if he gets some answers out of this too.

Her tone goes cold, colder than anything he’s heard so far. “You trying to imply something,_ runt?” _

Ben gets the sense that the wrong answer will put him in harm’s way in the very near future.

But, fuck it, he’s running on no sleep and constant heartache at this point. He never had much impulse control to begin with.

He looks Lily in the eye. “Just that I _ very honestly_ can’t tell whether or not you want to find Sammy just to kill him yourself,” he tells her. “If I’m going to help you, I at least want to know if… if it’s just a story, or you have some fucked-up vendetta, or you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart, or _whatever._ If you’re not gonna expand on the _ how_, then maybe try the _ why?” _

For half a second Ben’s sure he’s a dead man, and the only thing he can think about is how he never even got his pancake puppies. That would’ve been a nice last meal.

Then Lily… looks away. And it strikes him that maybe _he’s_ not the focus of her anger — or not all of it, at least. When she meets his eyes again, it’s still intense, but there’s a certain steadiness to it that makes it feel less likely he’s about to get mauled. “Short answer; all of the above,” she says, and he remembers her words from earlier: _ ‘It’s complicated.’ _

“And… the long answer?” Ben tries, because he has to.

To his shock, she actually gives it. “Before we worked together, we were… friends, I guess. Then he and I started on a show together, and we really didn’t know what we were doing but it worked. It worked well.” Her tone is dry and clipped, clearly wanting to get this over with. But as she continues her face twists, that anger that Ben’s learning is always just below the surface rearing its head.

“Then he and our producer ran off to do their own show. And they got successful without me, sure. But so did I, minus them. _ Clearly.” _ She waves her hand lazily through the air, like the national acclaim _ Wright On _has brought her is a given. “But then said producer disappeared and their show fell through. So Sammy moved his ass here, to this itty-bitty mountain town with a belief in the supernatural that borders on _brainwashed._ Which is where you come in, I’m sure.”

With that, she shoots him a pointed look that chokes off the tide of questions rising in Ben’s throat. “There, you’ve heard my story. Now let’s hear yours.”

Ben knows there’s more to it than that. _Way more_, probably. Who was the producer? Why did they leave her? What did she mean by _ ‘disappeared’? _ Does she have any idea why Sammy moved here? That last question has been on his mind since basically the beginning, but he’s mostly forgotten it with time. It mattered less how or why Sammy got here, only that he was here at all. 

Except now he’s not.

He thinks about the ring still sitting in his pocket, looks at Lily’s impatient face, and decides _not yet._

Ben takes a sip of his coffee before it grows cold, and begins. “I met Sammy the day he moved here, over a year ago. May 1st, 2015. He was almost late for our first show.”

_ “Typical,” _ Lily mutters under her breath. But he thinks she sounds less angry, though that might be his own fondness biasing him.

“Yeah,” Ben agrees, and as much as he wants to he can’t muster up a smile at the memory. There was no Troy to rescue a late Sammy this year. “There’s a funny story behind that, actually, involving one of our local legends. But I think you’ll be more interested in the events of later that night. It was the first appearance of the rainbow lights.”

* * *

Lily doesn’t get this town. She could fill a whole book with the things she doesn’t get — or several podcast episodes, as is turning out to be the case.

King Falls has been on _ Wright On _’s to-do list for a while now, but pushed to a low priority. They had bigger stories to chase. At least, until Sammy became a story himself.

_ “Second man missing in mysterious disappearances,” _ read the headline. Not much of a story, but enough to ping her search alert.

Lily thought it was impossible to hate Sammy more, that her anger and grief had already festered into the worst poison possible. But that was before he made her look at the word ‘missing’ for the second time in as many years.

What’s so fucking special about King _fucking_ Falls? Why does it keep swallowing people up? ( _ Her _ people, she can’t help but think, even after all this time.) There’s a story here, and Lily knows she couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t at least _try_ to chase it down this time. 

Lo and behold, they hear Sammy’s name on the radio on their first night in town. So Lily does what Lily Wright does best and starts asking questions. She gets less answers than she’d like and even fewer that make any rational sense.

But, by far, the most strange, frustrating, _baffling _thing is that everything comes back to Sammy in one way or another. Sammy, who believed in the supernatural as much as she does, has somehow managed to become a local legend in his own right. For better and for worse.

Lily’s careful when she slips in questions about the disappearances, about lights in the sky and such. It’s a touchy subject, but easy questions don’t make interesting journalism. But sometimes it’s unnecessary and the conversation shifts to everyone’s favorite polarizing radio show without her prompting. 

“The show was disruptive to the town, and therefore to the mayor who’s trying to do what’s best for it,” says the mayor’s secretary, without looking up from her screen.

“He _suplexed_ Mayor Grisham at last year’s Best Small Town ceremony! I had a front-row seat and it was _awesome!” _ says an enthusiastic citizen, before quickly asking that be kept off the record.

Most townsfolk are just decent people. Sad over the disappearance, but not overly concerned. They miss the show more than the person, really. _ The Sammy and Ben Show _ — people either loved it, or loved to hate it.

“Everything was quiet before he came to King Falls. Now that he’s gone, it’s nice and quiet again. Can’t say I mind that,” says the news anchor from Channel 13, and she can tell he’s a puppet without looking for the strings.

“I listen when I can’t sleep. I wish I could do the same for Ben as he and Sammy did for me. But if all I can do is keep an ear on him and call in sometimes, then I’ll do it,” says the wife of the other man that went missing the same way, abducted by these _ “rainbow lights.” _

It keeps coming back to Ben too, but always in conjunction with Sammy. Sammy and Ben, the show. Sammy and Ben, the unit. Sammy and Ben, attached at the hip. Sammy and Ben, close as close can be. Sammy and-

Well, it all sounds a little familiar, doesn’t it?

It makes her blood boil. How _dare_ he? How dare Sammy think he can just leave and start over, _again?_ First it was her and Jack and _1090 AM Radio,_ then Jack and _Shotgun Saturday Nights_, now it’s Ben and _The_ _Sammy and Ben Show_. Mix and match until you’re happy, until you get tired of it, until you get some pretty idea of a better life in your head and run away when things get the slightest bit tough.

She was pissed at him for leaving with Jack, then for going to King Falls to chase a ghost story, and most of all for getting her hopes up that he might actually find something. Except this time, Sammy was the one who disappeared. It was him instead of his _new_ producer, little spitfire Ben Arnold. Someone for Sammy to direct his attention and affection toward. Someone who was a perfect replacement for Jack.

Lily doesn’t know if what she hears from the townsfolk makes it better or worse.

“Sammy and Ben kept coming by long after everyone else forgot about us. Sammy especially really helped fill in for the kids when my husband couldn’t, and I think what he did for Ben wasn’t too different sometimes,” the wife continues.

“I’ve known Ben practically our entire lives, and I really think Sammy was the best thing to ever happen to him. Sammy pushed him to be better and seemed to make him overall happier, too. He was like the big brother Ben never had,” says the deputy who’s all broad shoulders, tilted hat, and sad smile.

Ben was supposed to be Sammy’s new Jack. She wonders how well that worked out for him, if it filled a hole like the one she still feels gaping in her chest.

Despite not feeling the best of things towards Ben, their meetings at Rose’s become strangely regular. Just the two of them, she with her phone and him with his… notebook. _ ‘New Jack,’ _ she thinks again, and every parallel makes her more angry (more scared).

They’re not the most productive hours of her week, but Ben insists on it every now and then and for some reason she can’t deny him. Maybe it’s the way he finally shows a little backbone, defending his town and his Sammy when she says something that touches a nerve. Or maybe it’s the way he looks as exhausted and hurting as she feels inside, before she numbs it with the wine.

She tries to reconcile all these vignettes — troublemaker, good neighbor, part of the family — with the Sammy she knows. She sees that Sammy really built himself a new life up here, though how much of it was putting on a face is hard to say. They’ve seen some of the truth; the parental, the snarker, the peacemaker until you push the right button. But she’s seen sides of him that she knows no one else has; the scared, the fake, the hider.

It’s funny, how the people who cared about him the most did so without knowing a damn thing.

“How well did you _ really _ know him?” she asks him once. Ben answers that he _ does _ know him and that he knows _ enough _. It’s all she can do to not laugh in his face.

Lily never mentions Jack by name, how he really fit into their little trio, or the hole he tore between them. Google exists, if he’s that damn curious. But she had decided at the beginning that Ben didn’t deserve to know about any of that from her.

If Sammy had kept his secrets — the ones that hurt, the ones you didn’t want to face again, the ones that aren’t entirely yours — then she could, too.

* * *

_Who is Lily Wright? _Ben writes on a page Lily will never see, highlighted and underlined.

**_J_ **is circled five times on another.

* * *

Another meeting. Lily’s started to get the ‘regular’ treatment, with a coffee at her elbow as soon as she sits down and a more genuine smile with her service. She even eats here sometimes, though not today.

Ben’s proven to be a good resource on the supposed supernatural happenings in the town and also generally fun to rile up. Lily makes sure she’s the one asking the questions, stonewalls or diverts his attention if he tries anything funny.

That last part is easy — all she has to do is say something about his _precious_ Sammy or the pretty little librarian he apparently spends most of his afternoons with. For _ “research” _ or whatever he’s always scribbling in that notebook of his that he never lets her see, that she’s constantly tempted to upend her coffee on. Not that she cares about whatever delusional plan he’s concocting to “get him back” because he’s still convinced Sammy disappeared into the skies.

Lily’s heard the tape, the one piece of evidence. It was a lot more than Jack had. It sounded a lot more familiar than she likes to think about.

_ ( “I don’t know what-what’s going to happen, but I don’t- I don’t want to **go**_**_,_ ** _ Ben. You’re-You’re my **best**_**_ friend_ ** _ and I-I _ ** _know_ ** _ I wouldn’t have made it this long with you. I’m sorry, Ben, I’m _ ** _so_ ** _ sorry-” ) _

If Sammy isn’t gone for good too, she’s going to have words with him. But he probably is and it’s probably long past too late. Not that she really would’ve known what to say.

Ben enters the diner and Lily looks up, another short joke on her tongue — because that’s easy to poke fun at, because at least he looks nothing like Jack did — but it fizzles out when she sees the look on his face.

“What’s got your tidy whities in a twist?” she asks without preemption, because they never bother with pleasantries.

Ben doesn’t rise to the bait, just slides into the seat across from her. His leg starts bouncing, so much it rocks the table. He gets in moods like this where he’s keyed up sometimes, where he thinks he’s found something or is impatient because he hasn’t. But he doesn’t reach into his bag for that stupid notebook and his eyes are focused when he looks at her.

Lily kicks his leg so he’ll stop. He does, but then he switches to fiddling with his fingers, twiddling his thumbs and folding and unfolding his hands. They wait until Hannah, their waitress today, drops off his coffee and he waves away her offer for those greasy pancake things.

“Either spit it out or go somewhere else to wet your pants,” Lily snaps once she's gone, and Ben jumps like Lily’s slapped him. She’s tempted to.

“S-Sorry, I just- I need to ask you something but it’s… it’s delicate,” he says cryptically, because that’s how everyone talks in this fucking town.

“Let me guess — something about Stevens?” It’s practically the only thing ever on his mind. “Just ask, shortstack. Nothing’s ever stopped you before.”

His hands freeze, then settle in his lap. He takes a deep breath and finally lets it out in a rush. “Do you know anyone with a name that starts with J?” Ben asks, and she thinks her heart stops. “Anyone who was close with Sammy?”

It’s a weird question. It’s a weirdly _ specific _ question, one that immediately pings as dangerous. _ “Close” _ was a word to watch out for, to avoid at all costs because of what it implied the asker knew or thought they knew, to never get pinned by if they wanted to keep their jobs.

But Sammy was so far in the closet he might as well have been in Narnia, and that clearly hadn’t changed when he moved here. Besides, Ben had made it obvious a while ago that he didn’t really know a damn thing. So unless Sammy did something _outrageously_ stupid like leave a diary lying around, chances are that either that’s not what this is about at all or Ben really doesn’t know what he’s asking.

And what the hell does it matter now? They’re both as good as dead.

She knows she’s paused too long. Best to just get the answer out — it’s not like there’s anything left to lose. “Just my brother, Jack. He produced our first show and Sammy’s bigshot one. But he’s gone now.” It’s the truth, if barely half of it.

There’s a seconds delay, and Lily expects some stilted attempt at sympathy like there always is when her brother comes up. She expects to have to push past awkward questions and turn them around to find out why Ben’s even asking and what information he thinks he has.

But Ben surprises her. Instead, his eyes go very, very wide.

_ “Jack,” _ he repeats under his breath, like he’s trying it on for size, like he’s turning a puzzle piece over to see if it will fit. “Wait, he- you said he’s gone? So he’s the one that ‘disappeared’? And that was right before Sammy came to King Falls?” he asks, one right after the other, almost forcefully.

Lily feels a heavy, burning coal drop in her stomach at the same time the anger rises up like smoke. “What are you getting at here? What’s with the face?” Her voice is sharp with- with annoyance (not fear), with demand, because she’s not about to be left out of the loop, especially on _this. _

Ben hesitates. It makes her want to grab him by his stupid hoodie and shake the answer out of him.

Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, square box. Lily puts her hand out without thinking, without really processing, and Ben hands it over without a word. She opens it and inside is a-

A ring.

An engagement ring.

Engraved with _ ‘ Love, J ’ _.

Lily doesn’t know how long she sits there in silence, just… staring.

She remembers, years and years ago, how they danced around eachother until one of them grabbed a clue. Then being together, stealing kisses and gross cuddling and being stupidly in love. Risking their jobs to stay like that in secret. Running away to start a new life without her. All the phone calls when Jack had seemed happy and well but hadn’t said a _ thing, _ hadn’t so much as _implied_ anything like this.

She remembers Sammy falling apart after Jack was gone, but he hadn’t said anything then either. And she couldn’t see anything else past her own grief and hurt and white-hot anger.

_ “Those bastards.” _ She wants to scream it, but her voice comes out in a whisper. She’s not sure who the pain or anger is on behalf of or toward. Her eyes burn, but she’s good about keeping that in check. She closes the box with a _snap,_ only to sit with her hands curled around it like a baby bird.

“Where did you find this?” Lily’s voice is still soft, too soft for the bustling diner, but Ben hears her anyway.

“When I cleaned out his apartment. It was hidden in his dresser drawer.” When she looks up, she can’t fully interpret the look on his face, but he mostly looks like a kicked puppy. “So, it… that’s from Jack?”

Instinct makes Lily hesitate a moment more, but she nods. What else can she do? “It has to be. But I didn’t know it was that serious,” she admits and it makes her feel like a failure of a sister. 

Then something rears up in her, an old protective instinct she thought long dead and gone with everyone else she loved, and she glares daggers at Ben. “If you tell anyone this about Sammy I will _break you,_ little man,” she swears, not threatens. Not about this.

Ben’s hands shoot up, palms out for peace. “No no no! Wouldn’t dream of it! But I didn’t… I didn’t _ know _ he was…” His arms slowly lower until one rests across the table and the other props up his chin. He stares at his cooling coffee, looking lost. “He could’ve _ told me.” _

Lily’s fingers tighten around the box. She believes Ben, despite herself. Just as much as she believes Sammy never would have told him on his own given all the time in the world.

When she speaks, there’s no bite to her voice. It feels like it’s all drained out of her, leaving even more empty spaces than before.“That’s Stevens for you. Always was a coward.” 

But he would’ve had to be ready to get over it, if he wanted to get married. To Jack.

Ben gets a twisted, pinched look on his face that suggests he’s angry, but too tired for the whole show. “I don’t think he is,” he says stiffly.

Despite what he just learned about his ‘best friend’ from a near stranger, despite the use of present tense being wishful thinking at this point, he _still_ insists on-

Lily stands abruptly. She throws a few bills on the table and gives Ben a sharp look. “Let’s go. We can talk in my car.” She doesn’t give him room to argue. 

He doesn’t try to. Ben only nods and follows her outside.

*** * * ***

Once they’re in actual privacy, Lily tells him what she knows, what little there is. Because the pint-sized pain in the ass isn’t going to stop annoying her with questions until she does.

She starts at the important part, about the lucrative asshole endeavor that was _ Shotgun Sammy, _ about them chasing something they thought was better. Her breaking the wall of silence first, sisterly worry trumping the pain.

Then the bits and pieces that didn’t seem important at the time, that the police wouldn’t have found relevant but Ben seems keen on; Jack’s hang-up on the supernatural that got strangely fervent, his erratic phone calls, his babbling about his research into this little mountain town called King Falls that all went into that godforsaken notebook. She pretends not to notice Ben’s hand go to the bag at his side at that last part.

She drags up what she can remember about what Sammy told her of the time between when Jack stopped taking her calls and his actual disappearance, the way he was obsessive and talked about signs and voices that weren’t there and refused to get help. She hates that she can’t remember the details now, but she was so blinded by pain and fury that she didn’t want to listen at all, didn’t want to hear Sammy whine about Jack shunning him when they had both shunned _her._

She ends it with “He thought he could find Jack in King Falls, so he followed him.” And now she’s here trying to find both their asses. Or whatever’s left of them.

That didn’t feel cathartic. If anything, she feels drained. The anger’s left her and she doesn’t even have a drink to fill its space before something worse comes along.

The ring box still sits in her hand, not heavy enough for the secret it holds.

She thinks about _engaged, _about _fiancés, _ and wonders if they had planned on inviting her to the wedding.

Lily looks over to see what Ben thinks, ask if he knows _enough_ now, but she doesn’t get that far.

It doesn’t make sense that Ben’s the one crying.

* * *

Ben doesn’t regret asking. He only hopes Sammy will forgive him for it.

When Ben gets him back, there’s going to be a lot to talk about. And then there’ll be another rescue mission to launch.

Ben is going to bring Sammy _home. _ No matter what it takes.

**Author's Note:**

> May or may not write more of this AU in the future? No promises, but there is a _lot_ I still want to get into with this AU, as I'm sure you can imagine. If I do, I'll make this into a multichap. For now, I hope it sits fine on its own!
> 
> Drop a comment if you liked it and/or to grant me the rewards of being loved. (I will almost definitely ramble in the replies, if that sweetens the deal)
> 
> You can find me on my podcast sideblog on tumblr [@podcastsmakemecry](https://podcastsmakemecry.tumblr.com/)


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